Hi,

Just cause I can't leave it unconcluded and the 1st part gave rise to some tantalizing questions. Especial mention to sree10 who wanted me to expand the first part into something heart wrenching and more detailed. Here you go dear, I sincerely hope this is what you wanted.

Please enjoy everyone!

Hum bewafa hargiz na the

Par hum wafa kar na sake

Hum ko mili uss ki sazaa

Hum jo khata kar na sake

He starts frequenting her teashop, but never speaks a word. At times she watches him from the counter, her gaze hidden under the luxurious curtains of her eyelashes. His tastes have not changed, she notices silently, adding another handful of orange blossoms to her brew of golden tea. There is still that spark in his eyes when he smells that rich fragrance. His each visit, leaves a trail of questions behind and she often stays awake at nights trying to trace those paths towards sense.

What was he doing here? Why was his light always on at nights? Was he overworking himself? How was everyone back at home? Did Shivay and Annika move past their pasts? Did Rudra finally confess to Saumya? Is Maa ji alright? Did he talk to her recently?

Every morning she resolves to herself to ask him those questions, each morning she is left blank when her eyes find his. Each morning he leaves in silence, burdening her with a bout of fresh questions.

The charade of silence continues, until one evening she locks herself out of her apartment, forgetting the key on her kitchen counter along with her phone. She tries all the tricks in the book, starting from a spike to a hairpin; the door refuses to open. He watches her from his door way, silent as always, arms folded against his chest.

A few more tries and a good kick or two later, he invites her inside, to wait until they can call someone to open it for them. His voice is too cautious, as if afraid that she might bite. Throwing her arms in the air, sighing in defeat, she follows him in.

The moment she enters, she realizes; it's a studio not a home. There are buckets of  paints, bottles of colors, easels, canvas, spot lights, sculptures, and tools. He offers her to sit on a paint - splashed sofa and disappears inside, giving her a moment to collect herself. Her eyes wonder the space, suddenly feeling home, her heart expanding with an unusual peace. There are many half finished arts, watching her like silent spies, guarding their master's secrets. She tiptoes around them, breathing in a hushed silence, touching their dried surfaces with the tips of her fingers.

His art has changed, the earlier paler shades and softer edges giving into darker colors and bolder strokes. The serenity of yore is replaced by a chaos of emotions. Reds. Blacks and blues seem to be his new favorites. From the hazy blur of thoughts, sometimes a pair of eyes like hers stare out, some of those veiled sculptures have her features; she feels scared, to be surrounded by so many replicas of her own self, to be exposed to shades of herself she had never noticed before to exist, to know that throughout all this time, she had been continuously on his mind.

Why didn't he say anything, when she was accusing him of her own inability to move on? Why didn't he tell her, he was going through something similar?

Tears prick her eyes and she hastily blink them away. He returns with his mobile and a cup of smoking coffee, a grim smile curling his lips. He notices her state, but chooses not to comment. They call the key maker and a minute passes in silence.

She takes a nervous gulp of the warm beverage. It burns some of the uneasiness from her throat; he had always been a good coffee maker, an art she could never learn.

"Why did you cut your hair?" She says finally, feeling foolish at the same time. From all her questions, that was the most trivial one. He smiles at her, stroking his own porcelain mug and  shrugs.

"I don't have time for locks anymore." Why? Her mind screams while she purses her lips. "Why?" He voices her question. "Does it look bad now?"

She thinks for a moment, tilting her head.

"No," the acceptance is slow. "This makes you look normal." Someone I could dare to dream of, is what she leaves unsaid. He nods dismissively and she gulps some more coffee, ready for another question.

"How is everyone back home?" He doesn't reply and the silence etches uncomfortably. The reality rises its ugly head again and she cannot stand it. Gauri stands up to leave.

"It's okay, I know you don't trust me enough to tell me." She almost leaves, before he grips her wrist, his eyes as insistent as his hold.

"I never doubted you Gauri," he speaks slowly.

It doesn't take a lot of effort to call the tears. They blur her vision instantly, chocking on her words as she speaks.

"But you didn't stop them either," her tone is finally accusing, bitter and disappointed. "When everyone thought I was involved in leaking those papers, you never said otherwise. Because you believed I could do that. I've betrayed you once by disguising once didn't I? So what was the guarantee I wouldn't do it again?" She sobs, as he pulls her to himself. She lets him to hold her wrists, bury his face in her palms. But she doesn't stop talking, those words had waited enough. "Do you know how I kept looking at you, waiting for you to say something, stop those horrible words everyone was hurling at me? If not as much as I loved you, to love me just a tiny little bit? I thought you could never make me hate you Omkara, but I never thought you'd break my heart so, either! Why did you do that? Why did you let me go?"

He doesn't look up from her hands,  as he speak. She could feel his breath against her palms.

"Because I wanted you to leave," the simple confession startles her into a silence. He looks up finally, right into her eyes. "Because I could no longer burden you with my problems, in a world that suffocates you every day. In a place where no one would truly accept you, or give you the love you deserve. Because I wanted you to forget me and be happy."

She takes a rattling breath in, staring at him wide eyed.

"I wanted to let you go cause I love you.." his voice breaks again, letting go of her hands. Her fingers find their way to his hair, the sensation that creates is strange, she wonders if she'd ever get used to the absence of his thick mane.

"And I just realized I loved you too much, to survive that." He presses his forehead to her belly and wounds a hand around her waist, breathing her in, as if it was his last breath. "I'm sorry, Gauri, I never imagined it would hurt you so. I never knew how much you loved me - I've never known a love like that, to begin with. It scared me, still does, but - I can't take it anymore."

She says nothing, as her own tears drops steadily. Even listening to him pained too much, but she has no energy left to stop him, or insert a word in between.

"I've left them," he says then and she inhales in shock. "Some ugly truths surfaced, with which I couldn't live there anymore."

She knows what it was. She had found it out a lot before. Only, she always prayed for it to remain hidden from him, the truth of his parents, the real story behind his birth.  At the moment all she could think of is how thankful she is to the gods for giving him the strength to survive that trauma. Something, she thought would destroy him beyond repair. She is too grateful to have him in her arms, wounded but whole, that she could not think of anything more. Bending, she presses her lips to his forehead, her cheeks as dump as his and her lips trembling.

"Pyaar ki maafi nahi hoti," she whispers in reply to his astonished expression. "Why are you apologizing for loving me?"

"Don't go," he pleads like a child. "Hum jee nahi paayenge!"

"I won't," she breathes in the end, giving into his embrace and gathering him to herself. After an age her heart is beating again, holding the weight of his head against it, and the last few drops of tears drain away. "I promise, I promise."

**

Open to your views, thoughts and suggestions.

Thanks for every minute you spend reading!

Sorry if you're disappointed!

Love,

Sakura